


A Winter Meeting

by skysonfire



Category: Star Wars-ish
Genre: Coats, Cold Weather, Encounter, F/M, Glasses, Love Story, New York, beach, curly hair, literary stuff, microverse, star trek director, star wars director
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	A Winter Meeting

There’s a chill caught on the sand that forces its way between my toes as I advance out onto the beach. The sky is a creamy splash of so many grays, and clouds laze across the ocean, minus the motivation of a storm. A gust of wind catches my coat, and I hold it snugly against my body — that unremarkable flesh-covered skeleton.

Ahead, I can make out the figure of the man that’s not mine. His coat collar is pulled up high against his neck, brushing against his ear to shield him from the chilly gusts. I can see the dark rims of his glasses, the customary cuff of his jeans, and the splash of his twisting hair, waving about wild on the wind.

He likes to meet on the beach, unafraid of the winter winds and waters, and that’s fine because I understand how it works, too. There is a shared knowledge that translates the secret beauty of the transforming scenery during the seasons, and there is nothing more lonely, misplaced or perfect than the beach in winter. I suppose that’s why he likes to meet here. This place is our mirror — the elements moving and in flux, always a little dangerous and always a little sad.

Maybe it’s the weight of my step in his world, because he seems to feel my approach, and he turns toward me as the sodden sand becomes sturdier underfoot from the saturation of so many icy ocean laps. I can't help but smile at him and his sweet, dancing eyes. He's so practiced and he remains as calm as pure enlightenment, even when he can tell that my heart is pounding through my ribs, shuddering at my clothes, and making the stone I wear on my neck dance about my throat.

I should slow my pace as my feet hit the water, but I accelerate and crash against him, my arms drawn with a magnetic pull against his body.

"J," I breathe against his ear. There’s salt on my face even though the swelling waters are calm.

"Oh, babe," he says, lowly, his one hand about my waist and the other wrapped against the back of my neck. I feel the warmth of the air through his nose on the top of my head and the press of his lips against my hair. I laugh as I cry because that's what he does to me; that emotional overload bringing my heart into complete confusion. I don't want to be so in love with him because I don't belong in his golden life. I am the bottom of the barrel — I am aluminum and tin, and he is so porcelain and polished. I should be embarrassed, but in the way he looks at me, everything that I think I know is fire and ash. We are a universe of stars as we stand together under the gray, glowing sky in this nowhere place, and I am so lucky and so guilty.

An unexpected wave crashes in and we scurry up the beach, our feet on fire from the cold. He smirks, his smile upturned on the left as it does. His face changes when he smiles, his wizened expression taking on a boyish charm.

"That’s how this is going to end, huh?" I ask, a laugh in my voice, and he kisses me for the first time this visit, gently at first, but as I move my lips against his mouth, he takes me in more passionately. He places his hands on the sides of my head and I cover them with my own as his tongue touches its warm texture against mine. He tastes so fine and rich and full, but I pull from him with a pucker, his lips lingering just a bit before he bites them back.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and the bottoms of our coats flap like wings about our legs. The ocean creeps up on us as we stand in the sand, and the only color in my world is the deep blue microverse that exists uniquely and fantastically in the pools of his eyes.

I remove his glasses for a better look as I sometimes do and he shakes his head with a degree of discomfort. I like to expose him when he’s here in our world. My hands take the opportunity to slide across the smooth flesh of his face — I explore the terrain of his features as though I am sightless, and he kisses my fingertips when they reach the petal of his bottom lip.

Dusk approaches and the caps of the waves encourage the wind into a gentle breeze. I’m so cold, but it makes me feel the heat that pushes through me as my heart kicks and gallops and dances around him. I am hot and cold. I am frenzied and calm. I am funny and sultry. I am old and young, and he just watches me in all of my critical ways. He is patient with me, as though I am a child.

I fiddle with his glasses and slip them over my nose, trying my best to mimic that face he makes in front of the camera — that smirk topped by that tiny furrow between his brows. He scoffs at me, and I bring my hand through my hair.

“Wait. Wait.” I laugh and exaggerate, because I know I’ve got it. I run my hand through my hair again and leave it to rest behind my head, elbow pointed out. I bite my lip and nod.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Nailed it.”

He motions toward me and reaches for his glasses, but I dodge him and make my way back to the surf. I splash down into the water and it assaults the cuffs of my pants. I stand still for his benefit as he staggers toward me.

“Ya know,” he says, as he removes the frames from my face and replaces them over his own ears. “I can’t really function without them.”

I slip my hands inside his coat and feel the rising of his chest. The breeze catches my hair and moves it from my neck. He beholds my heart activating there, and leans forward to place his lips against the surging beats that thrum and dance just for him. I can feel his teeth scrape lightly against my flesh.

There’s a pause as he wrenches me close and loves on the skin behind my ear.

“Yeah,” I sigh, allowing my fingers to slip through the silky nest of curls that he wears. “I know.”


End file.
